Worlds of Sun and Shadow
by Island Breeze
Summary: This story is not meant to biographically correct. It is for readers who just want the story to continue. Coming soon, a sequel for you!
1. Default Chapter

**WORLDS OF SUN AND SHADOW**

Two years had passed since the Great Race, as Chief Eagle Horn liked to call it, and Frank had spent a considerable amount of that time on the Lakota reservation reclaiming his history, his life. The reservation had proved true to it's name, Frank had not received welcome from his Indian brothers, he had to earn it. Frank's fame and his relationship with Chief Eagle Horn had admitted him into their camp, but not into their lives and certainly not into their hearts. Frank understood, his past was bloody with their tragedies and while he was not blamed for the slaughter at Wounded Knee Creek, he had carried the orders, and later insulted the memory in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show. They were facts Frank had added time and again, and he knew the total, the feeling of guilt and disgust in himself. So, he couldn't blame his brothers for sharing his own feelings. Chief Eagle Horn had also been in Buffalo Bill's show, but he was Lakota and it made the difference.

Eventually with the Chief's counsel and Frank's victory in the Great Race, his purchase of the mustangs, and the acceptance of his heritage, Frank found his footing, his place among his people. He was no longer Blue Child, or even Far Rider, for while the land had been taken away from them, their traditions never were. Not long after Frank's arrival at the reservation Chief Eagle Horn stopped calling him Far Rider, but Son From Shadows. Frank acknowledged the new name, but clung to Blue Child, Hok'shel'ato. When he tried to look past the shadows of his life, he could hear the gentle rhythm of his mother's voice speaking his name. Only, sometimes it was not his mother's voice he heard, but that soft, gentle voice from the desert, Jazira's voice, calling him Blue Child.

When the reservation was no longer enough for him, when his past finally merged with his present and the two could live as one inside of him, then he ached to be gone from his brothers, from the Chief. It was then he remembered and dreamed of the strange, hostile world he once knew in Arabia. That desert of compassion, except for that voice from the only person other than his mother who called him by his name. He dreamed of that world, that race, the Sheik, Al-Hattal, the sand storm, the locusts, and of dark expressive eyes above a veil penetrating him. It was enough to urge him awake, and out of his tent to walk along the edge of the settlement, longing to be away. It was time to go, for the cowboy to ride into the next sunset, but not the same cowboy.


	2. No Tequila Afternoon

Frank sat at the bar and swirled the remainder of his whiskey around in the heavy glass tumbler. He had decisions to make about his future and that required a steadier drink than the tequila he liked too well. The amber glow of the golden liquid held his gaze as he reflected on Chief Eagle Horn's parting counsel to track the mustangs, brand them, and start a ranch so the mustang breed would not vanish like the Lakota. It was unusual advice coming from a nomad, but the reasons were sound. If Frank did not claim and corral the mustangs, another man would, another man who would not care about protecting the horses or the Lakota heritage. However, the idea of creating a tribal legacy was too grand and broad for a man just coming to grips with his own life, a man who was not ready to settle down. Frank watched the light illuminate his drink, no, the mustangs would run free a little longer, until adventure no longer stirred his blood. He wanted to keep moving and he reckoned that was the Lakota in him. Frank half smiled to himself, even after purchasing the mustangs from the United States Government, he was still a wealthy man. Living on the reservation, he had barely touched his reward money from the Great Race. The question he still had to answer was, where did he want to go.

A deep voice interrupted his thoughts, "Excuse me. . .sir. . ."

Frank turned to look at the well dressed gentleman that stood at his elbow. Frank squinted up at the man trying to recognize him, but there was nothing familiar about him. It was very apparent however, that the gentleman recognized Frank. Frank saw it first in the way the man's eyes lit up when he looked at him, and then the stranger asked,

"May I ask, are you. . .are you Frank Hopkins?"

Frank had found since winning the Great Race people for no apparent reason knew his name. So, he was not surprised by the question, just bewildered by the expression of satisfaction the stranger wore. It was as if the man expected some kind of reward for just looking at him. The light in the saloon was subdued though it was early afternoon, still Frank squinted even harder as he asked bluntly,

"Yes, and who are you?"

In his excitement, the gentleman's hand touched Frank's arm, which he quickly withdrew as he explained, "I'm Lawrence Teague."

Frank swirled the name around in his mind, it meant nothing to him.

Mr. Teague bent down to look Frank in the eye and said matter of factly, "Frank Hopkins, you're a wanted man."


	3. Make It A Double

Frank quickly calculated, if only to prove to himself, that he had settled all past debts. He swallowed the last of his whiskey before turning back to the stranger with a look of incredulity. His eyes showed the exasperation he felt as he cocked his head to the side saying thickly,

"I'm a what?"

The stranger held onto his excitement as he said, "A wanted man, a most wanted man, Mr. Hopkins." He pointed to the stool next to Frank and asked, "May I?"

There was nothing threatening about the man and Frank was curious to understand him. As he considered what impact the man's next words would have on his future, Frank rolled his head to one side and it bobbed ever so slightly. The gentleman took that as a gesture of invitation and pulled up the stool alongside Frank. Immediately the bartender came over. Mr. Teague ordered,

"Whiskey, and Henry, another for Mr. Hopkins."

Frank put up his hand, "No, I'm done, but thank you all the same."

Frank noticed the faintest degree of surprise on Mr. Teague's face. The gentleman called to the bartender, "Just one, Henry."

As Frank waited for Mr. Teague to receive his drink, he rolled the smooth tumbler between his strong hands asking, "So, Mr. Teague, how do you know me?"

Again, the slightest sign of surprise and Mr. Teague answered, almost to himself, "Well, I suppose that's as good a place to start as any." Then he hunched his shoulders forward, elbows resting on the bar, in the same manner Frank was sitting. Frank thought it looked like an unnatural position for the man.

Then as if it would explain everything, Mr. Teague stated, "I'm a writer, Mr. Hopkins."

Frank didn't see an answer in the remark and gave Mr. Teague a sidelong glance as he nodded once slowly. Mr. Teague grinned saying, "Perhaps you'll know me better when I explain that I wrote the stories about Buffalo Bill and the wild, wild west, under a different name naturally."

As Mr. Teague expected, that caught Frank's attention and he sat straighter exclaiming, "You're boshin' me!"

Mr. Teague grunted as he swallowed his whiskey. Frank added, "I always figured the man who wrote those stories lived in the East, in the city where the publishing houses are."

Mr. Teague smiled at Frank's knowledge, knowing it was a result of his travels. Mr. Teague straightened into a more comfortable position and answered, "Well, I do live in the city sometimes. But to write about the West, you have to live in the west, if you're going to capture it's spirit and put it on paper so others can read it, live it."

Frank replied, "That makes sense. I've never read your stories, but I've met people that have, and I used to work with Buffalo Bill."

"Yes, I know," Mr. Teague set his empty glass back on the bar. "Where did you disappear to after the race across the Arabian desert?"

Frank tensed. The question was personal. He was not ashamed of his heritage, but it was more than this stranger was entitled to know, so Frank squinted again replying, "What did you mean earlier when you said I was a wanted man?"

Mr. Teague respected Frank's privacy and answered, "I meant just that. After the race you seemed to vanish. . ."

Frank didn't appreciate what the comment seemed to imply and said heavily, "Didn't know anyone was looking for me."

Frank's brand of humility was rare and Mr. Teague smiled to himself as he answered, "Oh, there were people looking for you, all right, reporters, writers . . ."

Frank was amused and asked, "Were you looking for me too, or did you just stumble on me here?"

Mr. Teague chuckled at the forthright question and responded, "Well, like I said, I know the West, I knew about you when you were with Buffalo Bill, and I knew you'd appear when you were ready."

Frank stiffened uneasily, feeling as if someone had been spying on him throughout his life and he was only now becoming aware of it.

Mr. Teague continued, "So, the answer to your question is yes and no. Henry," and Mr. Teague pointed to the bartender, "knew I was in town and when he saw you come in, sent one of his boys over to find me."

Frank threw his head back and cast a look over at the bartender now sweeping the floor. Frank's face was grim, he still felt like he had only part of the story. So he asked flatly, almost stubbornly,

"And why were you looking for me?"

Mr. Teague answered, "Well, at first I wanted to put you in one of my stories. Well, heck, I just wanted to meet you. You've accomplished something no other man outside of the Arab world has. Don't give all the credit to your horse either. And I wanted to find you because no one else could. You were the mystery unsolved. But you were gone a long time and I went back to the city to publish another story. While I was there waiting, reading the newspaper I saw your name, and another name I recognized among the advertisements."

Mr. Teague paused, noticing Frank was listening intently and uncomfortably. Mr. Teague continued, "This was about nine months after you returned from the race. Someone from across the world was looking for you, a man I also happen to know, though I have never met him, the Sheik Riyadh."

Life bolted into Frank's entire being as he sat up asking in surprise, "The Sheik? Looking for me?"

Mr. Teague now involved in his own story kept on, "The Sheik said it was an urgent matter of friendship. The ad ran for months. I tried to get in touch with the Sheik, but the man who usually served as our contact, our courier, couldn't be found."

There was a distant look in Frank's eyes as he said absently, "Aziz."

Mr. Teague seemed to explain that to himself, "Yes, well of course you would have met him when you traveled to Arabia."

Frank's mind was in Arabia now as he remembered his parting words to the Sheik. He had handed the man his Colt saying, 'But you've won a friend.' The handshake was of camaraderie and respect. Unbidden the memory of the raid on the Sheik's tent came to Frank's mind as well. He could clearly see Jazira fighting off a desperate man, Aziz slipping stealthily away without offering any assistance. Frank, not hearing what Mr. Teague was saying, said suddenly,

"Aziz is dead."

Mr. Teague stopped speaking and paused before saying, "Well, I wondered what had happened."

Frank's face showed his concern as he asked, "What else did the ad say?"

Mr. Teague looked puzzled and said, "As I was saying. . .I've been collecting articles about you. You're going to be a great story one day. And I saved the ads as well. I have them in my room at the hotel. You're welcome to read them yourself."

Frank stood up immediately and laid enough coins on the bar to cover the price of both drinks. Mr. Teague sat a moment longer, looking at his empty tumbler, then up at Frank saying, "And the Sheik was not the only one who sent out advertisements looking for you. Six months ago, there was another advertisement, and this one was not from the Sheik."


	4. Faith In The Painted Stallion

Frank on his painted stallion, Hidalgo, galloped towards her. There were shots fired, swords thrust, scimitars wielded, shouts echoing in the air. In the confusion, Jazira jerked free of the Prince's men. The camp was in an uproar. In the chaos, she slipped through tents, around camels, beyond trees where she untethered Al-Hattal, jumped on his bare back and galloped through the tents she just came through. Finally she came back to the center of confusion. Frank was on the ground fighting the Prince. Jazira reigned in sharply and shouted,

"Hok'shel'ato!"

Frank looked up and whistled for Hidalgo. The Prince shouted, "Cut them off!"

They would be his last words until he regained consciousness. Men scrambled around them, but both she and Frank galloped at full speed beyond the camp, across the sands and even when they covered a good distance they did not slow their horses. They rode neck and neck and through her veil, Jazira smiled across to Frank. The wind suddenly blew the veil aside and whipped it away behind her, a dancing purple figure finally dropping to the sand. Jazira said above the sound of horses' hooves,

"You came."

Frank grinned at her, "You knew I would."

Boldly she said, "Yes, I did."

She glanced back just once to see if anyone was following. The camp and caravan were already a distant speck on the sands. Frank followed her gaze saying, "We'd best keep off the camel roads for a while."

"Yes, don't worry, I know where there are water holes in the cliffs."

Frank smiled warmly at her, "I wasn't worried."

Jazira's eyes sparkled. Frank had come just as she had asked. There would be a reward for him, her father would see to that. . .and her smile disappeared. Her father. . .there would be no reward for Frank, from her father. He had died, she must accept it.

The sound of human footsteps woke Jazira from her dream. She lay alongside Al-Hattal in the stable. Her hair loose about her shoulders, her cheeks damp, her eyes moist. She sat up and briskly rubbed her scratchy sleeve across her eyes.

"Jazira!" Came the hoarse whisper from the groom a few feet away. "It's daybreak. Clear on out in case Lady Anne comes down for a morning ride."

Jazira stood up and when she did, Al-Hattal stood as well. She rested her head alongside his flank a moment whispering, "Good day to you Sheik of sheiks."

"Jazira!" the whisper was more urgent this time.

Jazira bent over and picked up her shoes and stockings laying among the hay. She brushed herself off quickly and said irritably, "I'm coming."

Phillips stood anxiously at the stable door looking for any sign of life from the manor house. He only glanced at Jazira briefly as she passed by him, still carrying her footwear. One morning when he had found her in the stable with her hair down, her shoes and stockings removed, he had tried to be coy and grab her, but she had kicked him in many places harder than any man ever had. Jazira had run off to the house and when Lady Davenport found him alone and doubled over she almost fired him for his lack of explanation as to why he was in such a condition. He never touched Jazira again. Instead she had won his respect. When Al-Hattal had first come to the manor the stallion was beyond control, and the sudden change of diet had been making him sick. Jazira was the only person who could handle the stallion. Phillips respected her for that too, because if anything had happened to Lady Davenport's prize he was afraid of what the punishment would be.

Phillips voice carried over the morning air to Jazira who was walking slowly, "Remember to get a bath."

Phillips kept Jazira's secret, that most nights, she came down to sleep in the stall with Al-Hattal. It was the only familiar smell to remind her of home, her father and it was the only place she had pleasant dreams as she lay near the Sheik of sheiks. But her secret was almost uncovered when the other servants told her she smelled like a horse. Jazira found it strange that the English found the smell offensive. At first she explained it away with the excuse that she was helping Phillips calm Al-Hattal in the stable. The servants accepted this reason for they had seen with eyes of terror the way the stallion had reared, and kicked and bucked after first arriving. When they were out of Lady Anne's hearing they secretly called Al-Hattal, the Devil's Stallion. However, Jazira couldn't use that excuse any longer. Al-Hattal finally grew accustomed to his new surroundings if not accepting them, and so Jazira bathed every morning.

As she washed her hair Jazira thought back to her dream and wondered: Why hadn't Frank come? Why did he not answer the advertisements? When she saw the deathly sickness in her father's eyes, she knew something had to be done or her fate was sealed. Unless there was help from a champion, her father was determined she should marry the Prince. Jazira knew him to be a selfishly immoral man, who only played the innocent with her father to secure rights to equine perfection by way of marriage. As the youngest in his family, the Prince's life revolved around pleasure and sport. Any man who would dishonor humans as he had would not hesitate to misuse an animal if it served any immediate purpose that worked to his favor. As a result, Jazira sent off the ads as if they had been written by her father, but among the last she sent off she added at the end . . .Blue C. That was over a year ago, and still Frank never came. Water from her wet hair streamed down her face. Where was the painted stallion? Where was Frank Hopkins?


	5. Hiding In The Bloodline

On the thick round table they had dragged over to the hotel room window, Mr. Teague untied the leather laces that bound his portfolio together. Even though he carefully opened the large album, newspaper clippings slid out across the table, one fluttering to the floor in the slight breeze coming through the open window. Headlines such as: Mustang Miracle Wins Desert Race, Hidalgo and Hopkins Cross Ocean of Fire, Mustang Beats Out Stallion in World's Toughest Endurance Race littered the table to Frank's amazement. Mr. Teague enjoyed the look of wonderment on Frank's face for the brief moment it lasted. Frank bent down to pick up the clipping that had fallen to the floor. His blue eyes caught a few words on the small square of paper.

Sheik . . .URGENT. . .friendship. . .bloodline Al-Hattal. . .Quickly. . .Blue C

The blue eyes focused on the last line as he stood up slowly. Frank stood facing the window as he read the entire message.

"Sheik Riyadh seeks out Frank Hopkins as a URGENT matter of friendship. To claim your right into the Muniqiyah bloodline of Al-Hattal, come quickly Blue C."

Frank was suddenly anxious and his mind raced considering the message and it's double meaning. Mr. Teague wondering what had captured Frank's interest asked politely,

"What did you find there?"

Frank simply handed him the clipping giving him time to think. The message had been made to look as if it were from the Sheik, but the last line proved to him, it had really come from Jazira. He chewed on his bottom lip in concern. The advertisement was a cleverly hidden message for help, and from a woman who never asked for help, unless. . . Mr. Teague's words pulled Frank out of his thoughts,

"Ah, yes, this was one of the last advertisements sent out by the Sheik."

Frank turned around to see Mr. Teague reading the clipping once more as if to discover what he had found so interesting. Mr. Teague looked up with a questioning look at Frank who filled the silence by saying,

"I never claimed my rights into the bloodline."

It was evident that Mr. Teague didn't entirely believe that and he looked back down at the clipping finally giving up saying, "This is one of the advertisements with the printer's error."

It was Frank's turn to look puzzled as he asked, "The what?"

"Printer's error, see." Mr. Teague pointed to the reference of Blue C. Frank pretended to look at it once more as he gave a lightning quick half smile. It had become hard for him to concentrate, Jazira was in trouble, something was very wrong and he was so far away.

Mr. Teague stated, "Well, that's one of the ads from the Sheik I was telling you about. They were in the newspapers over a year ago. But the more recent ads came from someone a little closer to home."

Mr. Teague filtered through the clippings and pulled out another small square saying, "This one I saw in the newspapers six months ago. I've never had a chance to meet the woman, but I've heard much about her." And he handed the advertisement to Frank.

"Anyone with information on the whereabouts of Frank Hopkins please send post to: Lady Anne Davenport/ Cambridge Square/ London England. Frank Hopkins attendance required to claim any past, present, or future claim of rights to bloodline of Al-Hattal."

Mr. Teague felt the guilty pleasure of being entertained by Frank's distress. A hard look came over his features as he asked no one in particular,

"How did she get Al-Hattal?"

The clear blue eyes were now clouded and disturbed. Mr. Teague said smoothly, "There's one way to find out."

Frank threw a dark glance in Mr. Teague's direction and said heavily, sharply, "A trip to England?"

Mr. Teague said silkily, "She's saved you a trip to Arabia it seems."

Frank took in a quick breath before asking roughly, "What's the date on that first ad?"

Mr. Teague retrieved it and answered, "November 1892."

"And the last one?"

"January 1893." Then Mr. Teague encouraged, "I hear that Al-Hattal is the world's perfect stallion. It would be a prize to have a colt from that sire."

Frank picked up his hat and made ready to leave saying, "He is that."

A worried look came into Mr. Teague's eyes as Frank added, "Thanks for saving the advertisements, and letting me see them for myself." Frank nodded and stepped in front of and by Mr. Teague who sputtered,

"Well. ..why. . .where. . .are you going? What are you going to do?"

Frank gripped the doorknob and put his hat on with one hand saying in his easy way, "I guess I'll be going to England. Thanks again, partner."

Once Frank disappeared out of the door Mr. Teague walked over to the window overlooking the street. He would wait until Frank had cleared out of sight before he went to the telegraph office to send a wire telling his New York office to post Lady Davenport that he had found Frank Hopkins who was about to pay her a visit. Now she could send him the rest of that reward money she had promised in advertisements he had not shown the cowboy. As Mr. Teague saw Frank exit the hotel's front door he said with a sly grin,

"No, thank you Mr. Hopkins."


	6. Behind The Veil

Lady Davenport lifted the china tea cup to her mouth in the most proper fashion, as Mary, her maid, laid out newspapers and mail on the table beside the tea tray. In a slow, precise voice, of perfect pitch, Lady Anne said,

"Mary, the fireplace needs cleaning, I can see ashes and debris in the grate from here. Send Jazira in to clean it out."

"Yes, my lady." And Mary quietly turned and left the room.

Lady Anne reflected over her tea, that if she used this as an opportunity to observe Jazira, the young woman might give away some clue as to her true nature. There was a submissiveness about the young woman that Lady Davenport was accustomed to in her servants, and she had an eclectic staff from around the world, a collection of people from her travels, but Jazira remained unfathomable. On occasion Lady Davenport had seen a fiery spark, a rebellious flash, a bold defiant ember in Jazira's dark eyes, but it would disappear as quick as summer lightning and her voice never betrayed any emotion other than humble servitude. It was Lady Davenport's increasing occupation, trying to figure out Jazira, and each week it became more vital.

Jazira entered the room asking softly, "Mary said you wanted to see me?"

Lady Anne took another sip of tea and savored it a long moment before making a reply. She glanced over at Jazira for the slightest glimmer of impatience, but found the young woman looking across at the fireplace. Lady Anne finally answered,

"Yes, Jazira, the fireplace has not been cleaned and the weather is warm enough now that we will not be using it any time soon."

Without a word, Jazira went over to the fireplace, chose the tools she needed and went to work. Lady Anne haughtily cocked her head and stared at the girl as she worked. Did she know where her father's book tracing the Muniqiyah bloodline was? Had she hidden it on this very property somewhere? At the thought, Lady Anne gripped the tea cup so tightly that it hurt her slender hand.

When Jazira had shown up on Al-Hattal at the Aden wharf, seeking immediate passage and needing immediate refuge from the Prince and his men who would be hot on her heels once they discovered she had escaped them, Lady Davenport had been in the right place at the right time. News about Sheik Riyadh's poor health had traveled to her ears months ago, and Lady Davenport had been making contacts in Arabia for that very purpose. Her business alliances had assured her that once the Prince married Jazira, as everyone knew her father wished her to, and he inherited Al-Hattal through the marriage, a sporting gamble, a wager, a bet in Lady Davenport's favor would secure the stallion for her. But when Jazira arrived unexpectedly at the docks realizing she did not have enough money to secure passage for the stallion or herself, nor did she have a destination in mind, it was Lady Davenport who swept in and cleared all obstacles for the young, distraught woman. It was Lady Davenport's soothing voice that promised protection from an angry Prince humiliated at the hands of a lowly woman. She offered guidance to someone inexperienced in travel, and provided a destination to a girl whose world was now empty. Of course it all came with a price, Al-Hattal, the prize she had sought after all these years, since her own girlhood in Arabia. She had been gracious enough to offer Jazira a place in her household, after all she had no where else to go. But when Lady Davenport asked Jazira about the breeding book, the famous Al-Khamsa manuscripts Aziz had told her about, Jazira wore an empty expression and feigned ignorance. Numerous times with gentle coaxing, and sweet bribery Lady Anne tried to find out if Jazira really knew the whereabouts of the book. Other occasions she tried subterfuge, force, and degradation, but none of her methods worked. In over a year's time Lady Anne still knew nothing and began to wonder if Jazira truly knew anything herself. Once after a drilling conversation and relentless questions, Jazira meekly explained the role of women in her world, in her father's tent, and that to have the knowledge Lady Davenport asserted she possessed was without precedent in that society. She had talked so long about law and position that Lady Davenport felt it was useless to go on since she was getting no where with the girl. So Lady Anne traveled to Arabia herself and spoke to the Prince with the promise of the first foal Al-Hattal sired if he allowed her to dig up the old sheik's grave in order to see if the book had been buried with him. It had been a useless trip, they had found nothing.

Jazira could see Lady Davenport's hard, transfixed stare as it was reflected in the polished brass shovel she was using. Jazira had no doubts that it was Lady Davenport herself who constantly searched her room. Everything was made to appear as if it were back in place, but Jazira knew, she had even expected it.

Light bouncing off the brass made Lady Davenport aware she had been caught staring at the young woman therefore showing her insecurity. So she decisively put down her tea cup and picked up her mail. As she sorted through the envelopes, she noticed one that had arrived from the United States with an address in New York. In a reflex she picked up her razor sharp letter opener and sliced through the thick paper. As she spread out the letter the words escaped her before she could prevent it,

"He's coming! Thank heavens, he's coming!"

Such an unexpected exclamation caused Jazira to turn around and look at the unusual degree of excitement on Lady Davenport's face. She stood up holding the letter in jubilance and then she remembered Jazira and said,

"Oh, never mind that, go find Mary and tell her to bring my writing desk. Hurry!"

Jazira left the shovel and brush inside the fireplace, stood slowly, and dusted off her hands before leaving. She wondered who could the heavens possibly be sending?


	7. Cowboy In Coventry

Frank had to remind himself of why he had come to England, as he rode over the rough roads toward Lady Davenport's Coventry Manor . When he had showed up on the doorstep at her London townhouse he had been informed by a very dignified manservant that Lady Davenport was not in her London residence this time of year. He did not invite Frank inside but provided him with directions to the manor as well as advice on the best posting houses if he chose to stay the night and break the trip into two days. Frank had smiled at the man, and said,

"No thanks partner, I'll just ride on through." As he turned to leave Frank looked back around at the expressionless servant saying with a tilt of his head, "Anyway, I think she's expecting me."

The well trained butler had not given anything away. However, Frank had the sneaking suspicion that the man had been informed that he would be arriving. There had been no questions asked and much information given, Frank knew Lady Anne's character well enough to know that she had not hired the butler for those trademarks. Obviously, Mr. Teague was in league with Lady Davenport. Frank had untied his brown mustang from the hitching post and with all the eyes of London on him, he rode out of the city.

He had stopped to water his horse at the Coachman's Inn along the road and when he saw the meat pie and beer they were serving the customers, decided to eat food he had packed himself. It was dusk, he still had thirty miles to go and Frank was determined to make it. Lady Davenport had hatched some new plot, it had involved the Sheik, and now it also involved him, because Frank knew there was only one reason that woman had the stallion Al-Hattal. Sheik Riyadh must have died. The thought pulled down the corners of Frank's mouth. He remembered Jazira's "Come quickly. Blue C", and urged his horse to go faster. He had to know what had happened.

It was dark, but the moon was full when Frank reached the manor with it's low stone wall and wide entrance, characteristics he had been told to look for. The house was set far back on a knoll, there was only one light shining in the far corner window. Everything was still and quiet, a light breeze was bringing the sweet smell of grassy pasture and jasmine. The mustang snorted. Frank spied the stables on his left and decided to tie his horse outside, and bed down right under the stars. Perhaps just lurking outside would not arouse Lady Davenport's chestnuts and wake up the groom.

Al-Hattal flinched, then he snorted, his ears twitched and he stood up and snorted again. Jazira opened her eyes and watched him. The other horses were used to Al-Hattal's false alarms, they remained quiet and resting. Al-Hattal stomped one hoof and snorted again. Jazira sat up. The stallion's ears continued to twitch and he threw his luxuriant head in her direction with alert eyes. Jazira stood and rubbed his neck straining to hear what he had. Then she too heard movement, just outside the open stable door. Phillips had secretly run off to the tavern, he would not be back until early morning. But someone was definitely outside. Jazira whispered in Al-Hattal's ear,

"Shhh, give me a chance to catch them by surprise first! I won't let anyone hurt you."

The chestnuts were now on their feet as well, snorting the air for the new scent only they picked up. Jazira's nerves were alive. What if someone had come to steal the stallion? She would never get help from the house. As she crept forward on her bare feet she picked up the pitchfork leaning in the corner. Moonlight poured in through the open door, giving everything about her a dream like quality. Perhaps she was dreaming, her dreams seemed so real. She paused at the stable door only to catch a nervous breath, then she leaped outside, pitchfork ready and asked in her most menacing tone,

"Who are you?"

Frank who had just sat down on the grass, shot up like a bullet leaving the barrel. The mustang whinnied and stepped away from him and the threatening voice. Frank's hands were up, one still holding his Stetson and he said,

"Hold on there just a minute!"

Suddenly, the pitchfork fell to the ground and the female voice asked again in a suddenly soft and tremulous way, "Who are you?"


	8. What Others Cannot See

Without having to think, Frank's heart moved him a step forward, his hand holding the Stetson stretched out. It was a gesture that propelled Jazira into his arms which immediately wrapped around her stiff frame.

She whispered in a tight voice, "If you are a dream, it is too cruel."

"Hey," Frank said gently.

His mustang nickered and Jazira realizing it was not the Hidalgo of her dreams exhaled deeply and began to cry softly on Frank's shoulder. He tightened his grip as she trembled, her long hair brushing against his hands. She smelled like fresh hay, leather, and spices. Something in a dormant recess deep inside of him stirred. Jazira pulled back from him, wiping her eyes. Still in disbelief she asked,

"Can it really be you, Hok'shel'ato?"

The name, the gentleness, the rhythm almost made Frank reach for her again, but he looked at the sad eyes that needed reassurance. Instead, he stretched out a hand and brushed away a tear with his thumb. He humored,

"Folks always say I don't look like myself in a suit."

Jazira smiled even as tears spilled out over the long lashes covering her downcast eyes. Frank shifted his weight and bent his head to catch her eye. When she looked up again she asked in wonderment,

"How is it you have come?"

With that question Frank avoided her gaze and when he glanced down he saw her bare feet and smiled. As he raised his eyes to hers again he said steadily, "I was fixin' to ask you the same question."

He looked into her eyes and waited. Jazira caught her breath, blinked and looked over at the stable that was quiet once more. She half turned to look back at Frank and said warmly, "You have traveled many miles. The story is too long for someone hungry and tired."

She faced him saying, "I'll go to the house and bring you something to eat."

But she made no move to leave him. Frank tossed his Stetson on top of his jacket laying on the ground and placed his hands on his narrow hips. He looked into her eyes saying assuredly, "No, I'm okay." He nodded his head in the direction of the house and the light still shining from the corner room and he asked, "Is that Lady Davenport's room?"

Jazira knew the answer without having to look, "Yes, she is up late into the night." She paused and then added, "I knew Lady Davenport was expecting someone, I didn't know it was you."

Jazira was looking away from Frank, she was looking past him, at the mustang. Frank looked at her knowing she had answered her own question about why he had come. He said slowly sarcastically, "I guess with her kind of work, she has to stay up late."

Jazira's smile reached into her eyes. She suddenly asked, "What has happened to the painted stallion?"

Frank followed her gaze to the mustang and he answered simply, "It was time for him to be free."

Jazira looked up at him with eyes glowing with delight. She looked back at this new mustang and then laid a sympathetic hand on Frank's arm saying as she tilted her head up at him, "Then, you too have had great loss in your life."

Frank knew that, without even attempting to, Jazira had lassoed his heart. As she had told him once, 'I feel you truly see me when others do not.' Frank had missed Little Brother.

Jazira's hand slipped down Frank's arm and into his hand. She tugged gently,

"Come, you are tired. Sleep in here tonight, the grass will be wet in the morning."

Frank turned and reached down to pick up his jacket and scoop up his Stetson, then he followed Jazira into the stable. He counted eight stalls and one whole large corner for Al-Hattal who was still standing waiting for his sister. Jazira walked ahead of Frank and he couldn't help noticing she still had that enchanting sway as she walked. Her voice broke his thoughts,

"I sleep out here every night." She reached up and nuzzled Al-Hattal. "He's the only thing that reminds me of home. . ."

Frank finished the sentence, "And of your father."

Jazira looked at him quickly and as her eyes filled with water she turned away and nuzzled Al-Hattal again. Frank put a tender hand on her shoulder and nodded to where her shoes were laying on top of the hay and he said genuinely, "I've traveled a lot of miles to find out what happened to him."


	9. Verily, You Do Not Know Our World

After Frank and Jazira had filled in the gaps of the last two years, Frank still lying on his back, drifted off to sleep, but Jazira was too busy contemplating their current situation to sleep. Jazira, lying on her belly, propped up on one elbow, observing Frank's face as he slept. He was roughly handsome, and his skin was dark from living under the sun. The peace in his features made him look youthful. Jazira felt a yearning within herself to be with him, to make his life pleasant, to sweeten it so he could be at such peace with life even when he was awake. She wanted to touch him, to wake him up and see him as his expressive eyes revealed him to her. As she controlled herself she suddenly wanted to kiss him.

This new dominant feeling scared her and she immediately sat up and hugged her knees to herself as if to better contain her feelings. What would her father say? To express her feelings to a man who had given no evidence of his own, that's what the veil was for, to prevent a woman from being so forward and presumptuous. After all, Frank had not come to see her, he had come in answer to Lady Davenport's advertisement. She simply happened to be at the same place. Would he have come to Arabia if he had not been on the reservation? A doubt crept into her heart, and there were no blue eyes open to take the little fear away. When Frank did understand the motive behind Lady Davenport's invitation, Jazira wondered what her own situation would be then. When his business with Lady Davenport was concluded he would return to America, and where would she be?

Al-Hattal sensing Jazira was awake lifted his magnificent head and turned to look at her. He blinked and Jazira suddenly felt as if he were the only thing she had left in the world that she could depend on. She gradually wished for the veil she had been so eager to throw off after her father's funeral. She could only hope she had not revealed her barest feelings to Frank. Perhaps he didn't know yet, how she felt about him, how she longed to stay with him, always, to fight his battles with him, to be held in his arms.

In her past world a man had to ask permission from her father before he could even look at face unveiled. How were things done in Frank's world? Would she ever get to know?

Whatever happened, Jazira knew that when Frank woke up, life would not be the same as it had been before he went to sleep. The morning would bring his visit with Lady Anne. Jazira remembered that conniving look she had seen reflected in the polished brass, and she didn't know what it meant, but she already felt involved in the plot. Yes, life would be different in the morning.

Suddenly Jazira heard swaggering footsteps approaching the stable and knew it was Phillips returning home from the tavern. His favorite mare heard him too and nickered softly in response. Jazira got to her feet. Phillips couldn't find Frank in here, not now, or things would get difficult for both of them. She would go out to meet him before he entered the stable. Phillips always talked loud and disturbed the horses when he was drunk, and he always spoke fresh to Jazira, but he never touched her after that morning she had taught him a hard lesson. Still, that hadn't stopped his mouth. Jazira tried to creep quietly past Frank and then rushed outside. As silent as she had been however, Frank woke up, took in his surroundings and remembered where he was. Jazira was gone and Al-Hattal eyed him suspiciously. With half opened eyes Frank said to the stallion,

"Take it easy Sheik, she'll be back."

Then he wondered if she would, and he halfway sat up, resting back on his elbows. He heard voices outside the open door, one of them a man's. Jazira's voice traveled through the air,

"Don't go in there Phillips, you'll get the whole stable roused up and if the Sheik is in a bad temper tomorrow her ladyship will take it out on you. You know how she is. Don't worry, just go on to bed, I'll keep an eye on the horses. You go sleep this off. Come on now. You know you better be presentable in the morning if she comes for her ride. Do you want to get fired? Do you?"

Frank smiled as he listened to her reasoning with the drunken man.

Phillips slurred when he spoke, "You're soo bee-u-tee-fool. Did. . .did. . .I tell you you Ja-sher-ahh? Yoor eyes are. . .are. . .like. . .they arrre. And yourrr hair is so. . ."

Frank sat up completely and the voices became fainter. She must be taking him to his room. Frank decided he should follow them. Once outside, with his long strides, he stayed a few paces behind them, still unnoticed by either one. The drunken groom was still talking as Jazira struggled with him,

"Soo, bee-u-tee-fool. Why. . .why. . .arrre you sooo mean too me? Why. . .why won't you bee nice Ja-sher-ahh? I'll bee nice too you and youuu bee nice to mee."

Frank was glad he had come. Jazira pulled the man along urging, "Come on Phillips, a few steps more. No, no you don't need your key. No I don't have it either. I tell you, you don't need it. Hush, before Lady Davenport hears you. Come on now."

Jazira turned the handle to the small shed where Phillips lived and said, "I'm going to put you to bed."

Phillips laughed and said, "Yesssss."

Suddenly his weight was lifted off of her and Jazira turned to see Frank supporting the drunk man as he said to her, "I've got it from here."

Jazira was surprised, she hadn't even know he was awake. Was this how it was done in Frank's world?


	10. Playing The Part

Freshly bathed, her damp hair braided and twisted into a loose knot, and in her uniform complete with stockings and shoes, Jazira squatted beside Frank and shook him ungently. A strong hand reached up and caught her arm, arresting her motion before he opened his eyes. It caught Jazira by surprise and the strength in his fingers left her breathless. When Frank saw her, he shook his head as if to alter the immaculate image over him. Jazira aided his recognition by saying in a rushed voice,

"Frank, I've brought you something to eat. Phillips will be up soon, it would be better if he didn't find you here. I moved the mustang's picket line behind the stable, Phillips won't see him back there."

Frank sat up, as Jazira handed him a large napkin holding warm bread filled with ham, butter and jelly. His mouth watered. She gave him the mug that had been protectively tucked in the crook of her arm.

Frank breathed deeply with delight saying, "Ummm, coffee."

Jazira stood up and said dryly, "Yes, I put a horseshoe in it for you."

Frank looked up at her with sleepy eyes and a beautiful smile. His eyes traveled over her face and figure. She looked so different than she had last night. Her figure was nicely outlined by the fitted dress. He raised an eyebrow and asked,

"Do you have to put the groom to bed often?"

Jazira blushed furiously and said confidently, "I can take care of myself, Frank Hopkins."

Frank grinned mischievously as Jazira turned and walked away.

It was time to find out what Lady Davenport was up to, otherwise he was ready to leave. He swallowed the last of his coffee, it was good and strong, then buried the evidence of his breakfast under the hay in an unnoticed corner of Al-Hattal's stall. Frank picked up his jacket and his Stetson. As he put on his hat Al-Hattal looked at him with dislike. Frank said in a low voice, "We're on the same side friend, trust me."

When he stepped outside it was the dull gray light of early morning. Jazira's freshness and cleanliness had reminded him he needed to clean himself up before he met Lady Davenport. He decided to ride back to the Coachman's Inn to get a bath and a shave.

It was mid-morning when he returned to the manor and knocked on the front door. The footman answered and Frank introduced himself adding, "Lady Davenport's expecting me."

The footman invited him inside to wait in the ornate foyer. Frank took in his surroundings, this was the kind of place he could have, if he wanted it. A maid scurried by in the same gray dress Jazira had worn earlier. Frank supposed he could have servants too if he wanted them, but he shook his head. No person should own another human being. Looking around, Frank saw more clearly what he would wish his ranch to look like one day. The footman returned,

"Lady Davenport will see you sir, please follow me."

Throughout, the house was decorated with statuettes, paintings, and carvings of the finest cut all of it representing the horse in some form or fashion. Frank couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. The footman led him to the lounge where large glass windows emitted the bright morning light. In a low chair that allowed the graceful line of her figure to recline at advantage, sat Lady Davenport, her dress a soft shade of lavender. She looked soft and human, and she smiled across the room at Frank. It was natural for him to return the smile and yet remind himself that as he had told her before appearances are deceiving. Lady Davenport saw the warm look in his eye quickly vanish to be replaced with a harder look. It caused her own mouth to slip out of the smile and into a hard line. The illusion of warmth disappeared. Lady Davenport remained seated but stretched out a hand in welcome saying,

"Mr. Hopkins, please come in. Welcome to the Davenport Manor. You were quite right when you informed my footman that I was expecting you. I see that Mr. Teague told you how we were working together to find you in that wild country you are so fond of."

Frank's smile was tight and artificial as he said, "No, Mr. Teague didn't mention anything like that, m'am. I suppose I just guessed correctly."

Lady Anne shifted nervously, she had to remember that Frank Hopkins played a close hand. She covered her error by saying, "Yes, you did. I trust your journey went well."

They spoke at polite length about his trip and then Lady Davenport suggested, "Perhaps you are wondering how I came to inherit Al-Hattal?"

Frank betrayed surprise. Since Jazira had already explained the history to him, he had forgotten to ask Lady Davenport. Likewise he covered his mistake by saying honestly, "I was surprised to read about the change of ownership."

Lady Davenport poured out her version of the sad story, painting Jazira in the most pathetic and destitute character and herself as her protectoress. Frank's eyes were dark as he listened to her version of the story and he heard Jazira's words to him earlier that morning, 'I can take care of myself Frank Hopkins.' Lady Davenport added at the end of her account that since she held the Sheik in such high regard, she did offer his daughter a respectable position in her household. Frank was biting the inside of his jaw raw to keep from interrupting. To add drama to her story, Lady Davenport called Mary her personal maid and asked her to send in Jazira.

Frank felt sick and yet there was nothing he could do to stop what was about to happen. When Jazira entered the lounge as requested, Frank immediately stood up in respect, thinking of how noble and beautiful she looked. But Jazira only gave him a veiled glance. It reminded him of the time he first met her in her father's tent. The veil was gone, but the position was almost the same. Frank remained standing and it became evident the display irritated Lady Davenport. Her voice was slightly strained as she said to the young woman,

"Jazira, I think you remember Frank Hopkins. He's come to pay us a visit."

Lady Davenport gestured with her hand in a queenly fashion that it was now appropriate for Jazira to speak to Frank. She turned to Frank, whose eyes were apologizing, his mouth grim and stern. Jazira wouldn't look him in the eye as she replied genuinely with some feeling, "How nice for you to come Mr. Hopkins. My father, Sheik Riyadh admired you very much, he would have liked to see you again."

Frank wished she would look at him, instead she looked down at the carpet and away from him. Frank played along as if they were meeting for the first time in two years saying, "I learned about your father's death. I too would like to have seen him once more. My deepest sympathies on your loss."

It was said with so much feeling that Frank had his wish granted, she almost looked up at him, but Lady Davenport didn't like the intent look on Frank's face and dismissed Jazira. Frank did not sit down until she had completely disappeared from sight. Lady Davenport murmured, "Such politeness, Mr. Hopkins. But I imagine that what you really wish to see is Al-Hattal himself. He is being exercised by my head groom, Phillips, in the far pasture. Would you like to see the stallion?"

Frank responded honestly, "I sure would."

Lady Davenport stood up, her blonde curls falling about her shoulders saying, "Then follow me."


	11. Like A Stallion

Frank, on his mustang, followed Lady Davenport's white Arabian to the far pasture. To encourage him to ride alongside of her she tried conversation,

"I see you stick with the mustang breed Mr. Hopkins."

"Haven't seen any reason I shouldn't," Frank replied.

Pleased to be riding together finally, Lady Davenport asked, "Are you planning to mate your mare with Al-Hattal? You are welcome to use one of my Arabians."

"It's a mighty kind offer ma'm. I'll think it over."

Their horses climbed up a small knoll in approach to this pasture where Al-Hattal's ebony color stood in stark contrast with the abundant verdant green grasses. In reply to Frank's earlier statement Lady Davenport said, "You do that, Mr. Hopkins." They stopped their horses at the crest and admired the view. Lady Davenport asking, "Is that not the picture of perfection?"

Frank was impressed. Al-Hattal's attitude showed his belief in a superior bloodline, if there were such a thing. The stallion had stature. Lady Anne and Frank stared a moment until her horse stepped forward and Frank's followed. The groom stood by the fence and Frank wondered if he would recognize him from the previous night when he had dumped him roughly on his bed. The drunk man had still been mumbling, 'Ja-sher-ah."

Frank had almost reached the door to his shed when he had turned around, went back to his bedside, bent down to the man and said in a low growl, 'If you ever lay a hand on her, you'll answer to me."

Had it not been for that brief encounter, the groom would never have remembered Frank, but now he wasn't so sure. As Phillips turned to look at the approaching riders he nodded politely to Lady Davenport. When he made eye contact with Frank it was obvious something about the cowboy looked familiar and the groom looked long and hard at him trying to recall where he had seen him before. Lady Davenport looked from one to the other then introduced,

"Frank Hopkins, this is my head groom, Phillips. He's in charge of my prize Arabians, including Al-Hattal."

Frank tipped his hat, but didn't say anything, as Lady Davenport continued, "Phillips, Frank Hopkins won the Bedouin Race over two years ago. As you know part of the prize was rights to the Muniqiyah bloodline."

Phillips said respectfully, "Good morning sir."

Lady Davenport dismounted. Frank did the same as she asked the groom, "Is he ready for the Run this morning?"

Phillips answered authoritatively, "He is, madam, but the Run is still too soggy from the rain we had earlier. It would be risking a fall to take him on it this morning. But by the afternoon, once it's had the sun shining on it, the breeze drying it out, the ground should be firm again. Perhaps you would like to try later this afternoon."

"Oh what a pity. I was going to invite Mr. Hopkins to ride him." She turned to Frank and explained, "To sit astride Al-Hattal is to feel like a king, you must experience it, while you are here."

Frank didn't particularly want to feel like a king, but he did have a secret longing to ride the stallion, since he had first laid eyes on him. Instead of responding to the suggestion Frank asked,

"What's the Run?"

Lady Davenport smiled, "That's something else I'm extremely proud of at this estate. It takes great work to keep Camira in top form. The Run is the perfect place to exercise thoroughbreds. Come see for yourself."

Frank followed her around the pasture along the tree line where there was an opening. He was surprised by what he saw. A green alley that extended for almost three miles, enclosed on both sides by trees. It was a place made to let your horse have his head, to determine how fast he could run. Frank admitted to himself, he would have enjoyed taking Al-Hattal out on the Run.

Lady Davenport could see the appreciation on Frank's face. She said, "Extraordinary isn't it? That's why I chose this manor for my horses."

"The horses in your stables have it better off than most people," Frank said evenly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," but there was skepticism in her voice. She said suddenly, "I hope you will not take offense Mr. Hopkins, Frank, rather, when I tell you that I promised friends of mine that when you arrived I would introduce them to you. They are fascinated with your story and your horse. You would be doing me a great favor if you rode out with me this afternoon for just a few visits." She saw the reluctance on his face and added, "It will only be this one day, I promise. Please, Frank."

It was the last thing Frank wanted to do, but she had tried to be accommodating and it would be ungenerous of him to refuse. With regret he agreed, "As long as it's just for the afternoon."

"Thank you Frank, you have saved my reputation." And Lady Anne gratefully laid a hand on his arm in spite of Frank's wary look.

It was dusk when Frank and Lady Davenport returned. There had been more than a few visits, and the last hostess had invited them to stay for dinner. The whole afternoon had felt artificial. The only real thing about it was Lord Wellingham, who made no pretense of his dislike for Lady Davenport. The man's wife made outrageous excuses for her husband's unapologetic behavior, as he read the newspaper throughout Lady Davenport's conversation, rolled his eyes and even grunted on occasion. His wife had not allowed him to speak out of fear of what he would say. Frank liked the man immediately.

Back at the manor a young groom came to take Frank's mustang. Frank knew his horse would not be stabled with Lady Davenport's prize Arabians. As the groom reached for the reins Frank said,

"I'll take care of her myself."

Lady Davenport stopped in her ascent up the stairs but Frank's eyes challenged her to refuse him, so she said in agreement, "Stewart, Mr. Hopkins can see to his own horse. Well, then, I will say goodnight, and thank you for a lovely afternoon."

Frank tipped his hat and said only, "Good night m'am."

Almost as an afterthought she added, "The staff has taken your things up to one of the rooms. They'll show you when you return."

His back was to her as he said, "Thank you."

Following the groom to another stable Frank looked up at the darkening sky. There would be another full moon tonight. He took his time feeding and brushing his mustang, until Stewart tired of watching him, left. Frank then tied up his horse and went to the stable where Al-Hattal was kept. The door was open and a lantern hanging from the ceiling was lit, but Al-Hattal was not in his stall. Phillips was not in sight either. Curious, Frank walked to the man's shed, but stopped in a shadow as he saw the groom coming towards it himself, from the direction of the far pasture. Once the man was out of sight, Frank walked in the direction the man had come from. There were fresh horse tracks which he followed beyond the pasture and to the Run. As Frank walked through the opening he heard the galloping hooves before he saw the stallion at full run.

Jazira sat bare back astride Al-Hattal, in her desert robes. They trailed behind her like the light from a shooting star. She was one with the stallion. Her body contoured to the horse's back and flexible with the leaping strides. She looked as if she were flying. Frank was enchanted. She was in a world of her own, she was free. He squatted on the ground in the shadows and watched enthralled. No one belonged on that horse, but her, she was the stallion. Al-Hattal had to belong to her again, and Frank decided he would just have to find a way to make that happen.


	12. Searching For Freedom

Jazira's eyes were closed and she clung to the horse's neck as she defied gravity on the back of Al-Hattal. She depended on the stallion to determine where the alley ended, at the speed in which he was running it was left up to his senses alone. Jazira only had to imagine, she could believe she was back at home, flying across the sands winning the Great Race herself. She thought of Frank. She had not seen him all day. According to the other servants, he had rode off with Lady Davenport. Jazira resented the pain that nibbled at her heart.

'Now do it! Now!' said her inner voice, and all of a sudden she let go of Al-Hattal's neck. The sheer opposing force from the stallion's run lifted her body up, almost flinging it back as if to throw her off.

Frank still unobserved, jumped to his feet waiting for the terrible crash, expecting the solitary rider to be thrown. Her arms stretched to the sky, as the force pushed her backwards, but her legs gripped tightly and she did not fall away. It was an exotic sight. The sheer daring of it caused Frank to unintentionally bite his lip, but he noticed that as she carried out the stunt, Al-Hattal had deliberately slowed a few paces. Frank respected the horse. When Al-Hattal came to a stop a few hundred feet away from him, Jazira slid off, leaned her head against his broad neck and chuckled.

The sound brought Frank out of the shadows. He wasn't sure why, but he felt angry. As he approached, Al-Hattal jerked his head up causing Jazira to look up as well. She was surprised to see Frank, and much more when he said in a scolding voice,

"What are you doing, riding like that? He could have thrown you at that speed! A fall like that. . ."

Frank didn't finish his sentence. His hands were on his hips, his look intense. Jazira was too stunned to speak. When she finally did get out, "Frank, I. . .:"

He interrupted, "And who would have heard you? If you had gotten hurt, who would have helped you?"

Jazira gazed up into his fiery eyes, confused. After a heartbeat she said calmly, "I have ridden Al-Hattal before." She breathed in and found herself reaching up with a gentle hand to soften the hard look on his face as she added, "Hok'shel'ato."

An ardent light passed across Frank's face and Jazira instantly removed her hand, only for it to be caught in Frank's grasp. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. Warmth flooded through Jazira at his touch, and with her strong will she was able to say,

"You were with Lady Davenport today."

Frank continued to hold her hand, he stepped closer and with his other hand his fingers traced her profile as he asked softly, "Why do you ride like that?"

Jazira blinked and responded honestly, "I cannot explain why."

Suddenly she felt uncomfortable by his scrutiny and took a step away from him. Frank said with genuine concern, "There are other ways to be free without risking your life."

Jazira spoke harshly, "There is no other way for me to feel free. I am as worthless in the English world as I was in my father's. There is no free place for me, except on the back of Al-Hattal."

"Your father did not think you were worthless in his world, and this," Frank gestured towards the manor, "is not the entire English world either."


	13. It Is Written

Frank woke up before the rest of the Davenport household, deciding to take his mustang on the Run. His boots echoed on the kitchen floor as he passed through on his way to the door that was closest to the paddock and stables. Once outside he stretched towards the gray morning sky riddled with dark clouds. He pushed his hat on and walked towards the stable but when the silence was broken by the sound of gurgling water, he halted. He then took a step forward, changed his mind, and walked in the direction of the sound. Beyond a large oak tree, Jazira stood pumping water into a large wooden bucket. Her thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders and veiling her face. Frank stopped and smiled, then called out,

"Good morning. Come ride with me."

Her head shot up, the happy smile on her face more beautiful than any sunrise, Frank thought. She looked back at the house and Frank came nearer saying,

"No one else is up, yet." He winked at her and repeated, "Come on."

Frank held out an open hand, Jazira smiled at him again, her cheeks rosy with anticipation. She slipped her hand into his and he led the way to the stable where his mustang was kept. Jazira nervously waited outside while Frank led his horse out, but then she walked up to the mustang her hand stretched out toward the mare's nose. After the horse got her scent, she gently stroked her head. Frank cocked his head, admiring the scene. Jazira looked up at him out of the corner of her eyes and said,

"Tell me about this new horse."

Jazira walked beside Frank as he led the mustang across the yard. He began, "When I told the Chief I was leaving the reservation, he knew I had no horse of my own, and he gave her to me. It was a gift to him from Wild Bill."

"The man my father loved to read about," Jazira stated with delight. As Frank grinned at this memory of the Sheik, Jazira asked, "Does she have a name?"

"The Chief called her Storyteller."

Jazira smiled, "I like that name. Is that what you call her?"

Frank smiled sadly at her and Jazira slid her hand into his once more and they walked together in companionable silence. Frank was the first to break it asking,

"If I wanted to speak to, what is he? A lord or something, Lord Wellingham, how would I do it? Would I have to make an appointment or something?"

Jazira was perplexed and looked up at Frank. She paused before answering, hoping he would provide some explanation. But when he did not, she replied, "No, not necessarily. It is said Lord Wellingham does not have many visitors. If he is home, you may just tell the man servant who greets you at the door that you wish to speak with Lord Wellingham."

"Sounds easy enough," Frank commented looking straight ahead.

He glanced down at her, mystery dancing in his eyes but he gave nothing away. Jazira reflected a moment then added, "It is also said that Lord Wellingham does not like Lady Davenport, and that he is extremely ungracious when she calls at his home."

Frank chuckled, "Ungracious? That's one way of putting it."

Jazira almost squirmed with curiosity. Frank noticed and laughed. He stopped walking, released her hand, hoisted himself onto Storyteller's bare back and reached a hand down to Jazira to assist her up behind him. Jazira hesitated a moment. Frank's eyebrows shot up, and she blushed. He gave her a cocky, challenging smile which provoked her to accept the strong hand that pulled her easily onto the mustang's back. Jazira slid into the horse's curvature behind Frank. He felt her body stiffen and tense. Storyteller pranced adjusting to the additional weight. Frank waited then with his chin over his shoulder he said to Jazira,

"I'm gonna let her buck. What are you going to hold on to?" There was a heartbeat of silence, stillness, debate and Frank teased, "Princess."

Immediately Jazira's arms shyly slipped around Frank's waist and she said stubbornly, "I'm not a princess."

Frank laughed and felt her relax. He knocked his boots against the mustang and said, "Gid'up."

The morning sky was threatening when Frank and Jazira re-entered the yard after their ride. Jazira's voice tightened and she said,

"Stop here, please."

Frank stopped without delay and before he could ask what was wrong or lend her an arm, Jazira slid off the mustang and began to run towards the manor. She stopped once turned around and called back to Frank, "She is a wonderful mare."

Frank tipped his hat and watched her rush away. He reached down and scratched the mustang between the ears saying with approval, "Hear that? She thinks you're wonderful."

Storyteller's ears twitched and Frank looked up at the sky. It was going to be a stormy day. He led the mustang to a trough near the stable. As he carried water to fill it, the raindrops started to fall. Frank trudged back and forth from the pump until the mare's thirst slackened. Then he led her back into the stable, dried her off and brushed her saying, "I'm going to need to buy some time here. So it looks like you're going to have to pay Al-Hattal a visit."

Storyteller whinnied and Frank grinned, "I thought you'd like that."

When he was through, he stood up, patted the her on the rump and said, "Well, I guess I go in now and play matchmaker."

There was a low rumble of thunder and the sound of rain beating against the roof. The other horses in the stable whinnied, but Storyteller remained quiet. Frank who had gone to look out the stable door, looked back at the steady mustang with a smile of regard and he nodded at her before exiting and walking through the heavy rain back to the house.

Frank entered the kitchen door and when he stepped inside, the cook gasped and two maids giggled. The cook's eyes were full of condemnation as she looked at Frank standing in the doorway dripping all over her clean floor.

She said in a reprimanding tone, "Mr. Hopkins!"

Frank looked down at the large pools his wet clothes were making. Taking off his hat created another pond. He said plainly, "Sorry m'am, I couldn't just stand outside though."

The cook mumbled something and rolled her eyes snapping, "Angela! Bring Mr. Hopkins a towel, a large towel." She pointed at him saying, "You're not going to go dripping all over my floor."

Frank said humbly, "No m'am."

Angela returned with the towel and took it over to the cook who said with exasperation, "It's not for me silly girl, it's for Mr. Hopkins."

Angela giggled again and handed the towel to the soaked cowboy. Frank dried his face and patted at his clothes half heartedly the cook ranted,

"I hope you know, that through that door is the dining room, where Lady Davenport sits at this very moment eating her breakfast. Heaven knows what she will say."

Frank looked pleased and tossed the towel back to the unsuspecting Angela who was barely able to catch it saying as he did so, "Oh, is she there? Good, I need to talk with her."

The cook put her hands on her hips and said, "For heavens sake!"

Frank crossed the kitchen with several long strides, pushed on the door which swung open and stood across the room from Lady Davenport who froze with her coffee cup in mid air when she saw him. A momentary glance was all it took and a look of disgust clouded her eyes and pulled up one corner of her mouth into a sardonic depreciating grin.

With effort she said, "Good morning, Mr. Hopkins."

"Good morning, Lady Davenport," he returned.

She said in a small controlled voice, "Won't you have some breakfast, perhaps after you have had a chance to clean up."

She looked off to the side with the slightest shake of her head. Frank pretended not to notice and said, "I will do just that. However, I wanted to tell you, I have decided to cross Al-Hattal with my mustang after all."

The coffee cup came down with a clink on it's saucer as Lady Davenport said, "I see. That will be an interesting combination will it not?" Forethought pulled the deteriorating conversation onto higher ground, to something more suited to her purpose and Lady Anne said, "Well, it's entirely up to you. After all, you do have bloodline rights. I wanted you to be able to claim it if that was what you desired, which is why I advertised in all the major American newspapers, even hiring Mr. Teague, who went even further to find you."

Frank felt his nerves come alive. This was it, he felt he was about to hear the real motive, the real reason behind the ads, certain they had not been placed out of generosity and unselfishness.

Lady Davenport continued, "And you, Mr. Hopkins, Frank, you came such a long way, such a very great distance to claim your rights."

Frank tried not to sound impatient as he encouraged, "Yes m'am, I have."

Lady Anne dipped her head in sympathy and related, "The bloodline will be of little benefit however, if one does not have the Al-Khamsa manuscripts."

Lady Davenport paused to let this fact sink in. Frank remembered the scene in the Sheik's tent when he said in a panic, 'My family's breeding book is missing.' But Frank decided to feign ignorance and ask,

"What kind of manuscripts?"

Lady Davenport clasped her hands together decisively and explained, "The Al-Khamsa, you could say it is the title that proves the stallion is who we know him to be, it is his heritage, his superior lineage. The book is verification of his worth. Without it, your colt will be worthless, and this trip a waste."

Frank's eyes hardened, and his face grim as he asked roughly, "What are you saying, you don't have the book?"

Lady Davenport looked up at him and said darkly, "I don't have it, yet, Mr. Hopkins."


	14. Secrets Of The Hammad

There was an ominous roll of thunder. Frank hooked a thumb in his belt loop and asked,

"How exactly do you plan to find it?"

In the room darkened by the approaching storm, Lady Davenport's eyes glimmered as she said pointedly, "You are a man of vision Frank, you tell me." It was a rhetorical question but from across the room Frank leveled a stubborn gaze at her. She continued, "You traveled all the way to Arabia to prove your mustang to the world, which you did. It is the horse of the Red Indian tribe whose blood runs in your veins, and whose steeds, I hear, were taken away from them by your government. You spent the last two years living on a reservation. Pride, Frank, that has been your motive, pride in your horse, your people, and yourself. Halfway across a continent and across an entire ocean your pride and your vision has carried you again, this time to England. It is pride in your future. But your vision Frank, can only become a reality with that book."

Frank felt the power of her persuasive argument, but was not swayed by it. She did not know his vision, much less care about it's fulfillment. She only knew how to exploit. Frank shrugged slightly and said in a deliberate voice,

"Sorry, I don't have it."

Lightning flashed beyond the window. Lady Davenport studied him for a moment. Frank did not flinch as he tried to keep his thoughts off Jazira. If Lady Davenport was as consumed with the Sheik's breeding book as it sounded, Frank knew she was a potentially dangerous woman. The silence lasted a minute too long and Frank said,

"If you'll excuse me m'am, I'd like to get into some dry clothes."

He was about to step out of the room when Lady Davenport called to him, "Frank!" He stopped and looked back at her, waiting. She had stood up, her hands braced on the table as she leaned forward asking in a sinister tone,

"What happened in the marketplace on the Hammad?"

Frank felt his hair bristle and his body go rigid, knowing the way he answered the question could alter events dramatically. Looking sharply at Lady Davenport, Frank's eyes gleamed brilliant blue as he waited. Lady Davenport wore an indulgent smile as she explained, "The marketplace on the Hammad, where Katib, the Sheik's nephew held Jazira captive."

At the use of her name, Frank felt as if an icy finger touched his spine, yet the implicating voice continued, "We were all present when the Sheik announced that his nephew had stolen the breeding book. What we didn't find out was, what happened to it after that, when you returned with the girl."

Frank tried to hide his discomfort as he wondered if Lady Davenport had put the same question to Jazira and what answer she had given. If his reply contradicted hers, or if he unintentionally incriminated her, she could be in jeopardy.

Lady Davenport tried to control her excitement, feeling as if she were about to get an answer to the puzzle that had obsessed her since Jazira had arrived at the Aden wharf. Lady Davenport repeated, "What happened at the marketplace, Frank?"

Frank stepped back into the room, tilted his head to one side as if he had to force himself to remember the event at all. He looked back at the expectant Lady Davenport and fired the loaded question, "Why, did Katib tell you he didn't have it?"

It hit the mark. There was electricity in the room as if lightning had flashed through the window, as Frank recalled the pits of the Umm al-Samim, the trap that had been set for Hidalgo and Al-Hattal. He wondered if Lady Davenport would admit a hand in that scheme by revealing there had been a conversation between herself and the raider.

Lady Davenport blinked, the smile no longer on her face. She breathed rapidly and replied quickly, "Prince Bin al-Reeh reported the attack by Katib's raiders at camp. Katib would not have done something so foolish if he still had the manuscripts in his possession."

Frank's eyes narrowed. She had barely escaped the question and he used it to his advantage saying solemnly, "Still, you are not certain." It did not escape his notice that Lady Davenport wore a guarded expression on her face. Frank threw the dog a bone before walking out by saying,

"If Katib did not have the book, then that leaves one person, Aziz. Now, I really would like to get out of these clothes."

But he saw Lady Davenport's eyes light up. Apparently she had not thought of the possibility that Aziz held the manuscripts last. Looking out of a window, Frank walked to his room, hoping the storm would soon pass. He needed to speak to Lord Wellingham today.


	15. First Impressions

Frank led Storyteller into the corral where the head groom, Phillips, stood with Al-Hattal. The nostrils flared on both horses as they picked up one another's scent across the distance separating them. Al-Hattal shook his head and snorted with great dignity and power. Storyteller only glanced at the stud with large nervous eyes and walked in circles around Frank using the opportunity to size up the larger stallion. Al-Hattal stamped the ground and reared, more concerned about the invasion of his territory than engaging the mare. Storyteller walked to the gate she had entered moments before. Frank shrugged and said,

"Well, you've met each other anyway."

Phillips replied from his side of the corral, "It looks like they're a little nervous."

Frank thought it looked like Phillips was a little nervous as well. After all, the groom could have done more to calm the stallion. Storyteller was only reacting to Al-Hattal's anxiety.

Frank opened the gate and led the mustang out. He had other business to conduct and he said over his shoulder to Phillips, "We'll try again later."

Phillips made no reply. Frank wondered if the groom's case of nerves were simply over his responsibility to Lady Davenport's prize stallion or had she told Phillips to discourage the match. 'An interesting combination', she had called it. Frank who had not been particularly interested in breeding the mustang with Al-Hattal, now wanted it to happen. Frank decided this case was a matter of pride.

He saddled the mustang, climbed up, and they walked across the yard toward the long drive leading out of Davenport Manor. He tipped his hat to Lady Davenport who was walking out to the corral, obviously surprised to see Frank leaving. She walked up to Phillips, who was watching the cowboy's exit enviously, and asked,

"Where is Mr. Hopkins going, Phillips?"

"To get a drink I imagine. It doesn't look like the two horses are going to mate."

Lady Davenport said haughtily, "Oh yes. Good." Phillips glanced up at his employer and she explained what she thought would have been obvious to her head groom, "Of course they won't mate, the match is too unequal. It is ludicrous to even try."

Phillips crossed his arms on his chest as he said, "Mr. Hopkins plans to try again later."

Lady Davenport said argumentatively, "Let him! The result will be the same." She held her head higher as she looked upon Al-Hattal, who was now calmly munching on oats, saying "A king does not share his name with the slave."

Phillips wisely said nothing.

Frank was relieved to leave the manor. It was like leaving a smoke filled room and stepping into fresh air. His aim was to find Lord Wellingham and speak with him.

Lord Wellingham's footman opened the massive front door and looked first at Frank's attire. His eyes lingered on the cowboy's boots and then his gaze traveled back up to Frank's face which plainly said he didn't care what the footman thought about his clothes and he was not there on pretense. The footman asked,

"May I help you, sir?"

Frank replied, "Hi there, yes, I'd like to speak with Mr. . .excuse me, I mean Lord Wellingham please."

"Is he expecting you, Mr. . .?"

"Hopkins, Frank Hopkins, and no, he is not expecting me, but I still would like to speak with him."

"Yes, sir, please step inside."

Frank took off his hat and stepped into the foyer, noting the elegant difference between this and the Davenport Manor. He stood some minutes before the footman returned saying,

"If you'll follow me, sir. Lord Wellingham sys if you will wait in his library, he will receive you there."

Frank walked into the room saying, "Thanks."

The room he was deposited in was substantial, bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling along two walls were filled to capacity. Frank was impressed. He smiled wondering if Wellingham had ever read Mr. Teague's stories about Wild Bill. A globe stood near the long window. Frank walked over to it and found South Dakota, then traced his way to Arabia, he was about to add England to his imaginary course when the door opened and Lord Wellingham entered, resplendent wearing his silk smoking jacket.

He said sternly, "Good afternoon, Mr. Hopkins. Calculating how many miles you have covered in the last few years?"

The man was refreshingly blunt. Frank liked that quality and grinned, "As a matter of fact, I was."

Lord Wellingham walked over to his desk and pulled out a bottle asking, "Brandy, Mr. Hopkins?"

"Sure, why not?" Frank answered and walked over to receive his tumbler. Lord Wellingham then sat down in the leather chair closest to him, comfortably crossed his legs and asked,

"Now, what can I do for you?"

Frank motioned towards another chair within easy speaking distance and Lord Wellingham replied, "By all means."

Frank sat down, but instead of relaxing he leaned forward and said, "I can tell Mr. . .Lord Wellingham you're a straight forward man. It was pretty obvious to me the other day, that you don't exactly feel," Frank paused remembering the word Jazira had used, "gracious towards Lady Davenport."

Lord Wellingham's face grew cold and he seemed to have grown taller all of a sudden, but Frank continued, "I share your feelings. As you know, I was in Arabia the same time Lady Davenport was, and I was just wondering if her husband is aware of her infidelity?"

Lord Wellingham choked on his brandy and stared across at Frank before breaking out in a deep rolling laugh. Frank smiled, his first impression had been right, he had a good eye for people.

After regaining his composure, Lord Wellingham commented, "And you said I was straight forward. Here I was thinking that you were. . .Why, did Lady Davenport proposition you too?"

Frank refrained from answering, but grinned asking, "Is that why the Major stays away from home?"

Lord Wellingham turned serious and he said gravely, "I am a friend to Major Davenport, have been for years, good man. A trifle near sighted, if you catch my meaning, but a good, decent, respectable man. No, the Major stays away because his wife is so extravagant. She spends money as fast as it comes in with her races, on her horses, in that Manor, her trips to Arabia. She spent thousands alone, on that Bedouin Race."

Frank put in, "I happen to know for a fact that she put in 40 of the $100,000 purse for losing the race."

Lord Wellingham got up, poured himself another brandy, lifted the bottle in invitation to Frank who shook his head in refusal. Lord Wellingham sat down and said over his tumbler,

"Sheer lunacy."

Frank asked, "Are you telling me the Davenports are in financial trouble?"

Lord Wellingham's brow wrinkled in consternation, causing Frank to add quickly, "I only ask because I happen to be in a position to offer help. Help, in the form of a business proposition for which I am willing to pay a hefty sum. On the condition, I conduct it with Major Davenport."

Lord Wellingham pondered this information and looked at Frank asking, "Don't trust Lady Davenport do you?"

Frank cocked his head and replied, "Do you?"

"Not on my life," was Wellingham's answer. He was silent a moment then asked, "You're after the stallion, is that it?"

Frank replied decisively, "I'm not going back to America without him."

Lord Wellingham considered the situation then said, "You may get him. The Major did hear rumors about his wife's indiscretion on her last trip to Arabia. He's been staying in Liverpool ever since."

Frank asked, "How far away is that?"

Lord Wellingham answered, "A good day's ride."

Frank grinned, "Is that all?"


	16. An Eye For Horse Flesh

In a long, pale tunic, Jazira lay on her side, propped up on her elbow, and reading by lantern light in the corner of Al-Hattal's stall. She was trying to forget the questions Lady Davenport hounded her with the whole afternoon, and the close scrutiny she had been under throughout the day. And she was trying to forget the impatience she felt, not having seen Frank since their morning ride together. She tried to forget that one day Frank would leave the manor, and England.

"Jazira," the voice was as soft as a whisper, but it made her jump in surprise.

Frank was sitting on his heels a few feet away from her. She sat up and he asked, "Where is the groom?"

Jazira answered, "He claimed to go looking for you at the tavern."

Frank studied her a moment to see if she had believed him to be there as well, but her expression was trusting. He smiled saying, "Good, let him stay there tonight. I have an idea."

Jazira scrambled to her feet and walked over to Frank who also stood up. The lantern light flickered over his handsome face as she asked, "What is your idea?"

Frank was suspended a minute appreciating Jazira's beauty as the soft light accented her shining eyes, her smooth skin, and luxurious hair. Jazira waited with question in her eyes and Frank considered that she didn't know how lovely she was. He shook his head, looked down at his boots, then continued, "Did Phillips tell you what happened this afternoon when we tried to. . ."

Jazira interrupted him, "Yes, that was why he thought you went to have a drink. He even said so to Lady Davenport."

Frank said, "And that's where she thinks I am?"

Jazira frowned but looked up at him with comfort in her eyes, "Yes, because she does not want to know the real Frank Hopkins."

Frank gazed into Jazira's eyes that looked up at him with confidence and trust, but he could also see a fringe of sadness in them as well. He said with a husky voice, "I want to take them out to try again. Al-Hattal and my mare."

Jazira's eyes lit up, expectation showed on her face and Frank said without hesitation, "You're the one that knows how to breed horses."

Jazira swallowed the lump in her throat and forced down the pride that sprang to the surface. She replied with gentle conviction, "Yes, I am."

Frank confirmed her belief, "Yes, you are. Can we try it tonight? I will be gone tomorrow."

Jazira's heart stopped beating. In a few words she went from elation to pain. She longed to ask where he had been and where he was going, but her upbringing suppressed the question. Her heart ached, he would be gone tomorrow and one day he would be gone for good. Her heart cried silently, "Hok-shel-ato."

Frank noticed the shadow that crossed her face and laid a hand on her arm asking, "What is it? What's wrong?"

But she looked down at her bare feet then said with business like precision, "I will take Al-Hattal out to the far pasture, first. Give him a few minutes alone, and then bring Storyteller."

Frank still wondered what had caused that sad expression on her face, but responded, "All right, we'll meet you in a few minutes."

It was a three quarter moon and Frank carried a lantern out to the pasture. When he approached the fence with his mustang, Jazira stood in the center playing with the stallion. Al-Hattal would walk away from her, but when she stretched her arms out he would come to her side. When she turned away from him, he would put his large head over her shoulder and gently push her head to the side, but she would not turn to look at him. Al-Hattal meekly dropped his head and walked to stand in front of her. Frank had never seen the stallion so subdued or submissive, and he wasn't the only one who noticed, the mare had pricked up her ears with interest. Storyteller walked a few steps away from Frank and towards Al-Hattal, but Frank held her back, waiting for Jazira's signal. She continued the game with the stallion and as the mare pulled against the loose rope Frank had thrown around her, he chuckled. The mustang wanted to play as well. It was magical watching as Jazira transformed the thoroughbred, and Frank understood the movements by the reaction it excited in the mare. So when Jazira looked up at him, Frank knew it was time to let her buck, and he slipped the loose noose over the mare's head and she eagerly trotted to join the stallion.

Frank climbed up and sat on the fence, hanging the lantern from one of the fence posts. When the two horses were comfortable with one another, Jazira came over to join him. She hiked up her tunic a little and accepted Frank's hand to pull her up beside him. He held onto her elbow until she was situated, and stared at her with admiration saying,

"You're amazing."

Jazira cocked her head up at him explaining, "There is nothing amazing about encouraging what is natural, or helping it along. It is an art passed down through my family, that is all."

Frank persisted, "But you didn't see them this morning, I would have never thought this was possible."

Jazira reflected honestly, "You would not have given up so easily."

But Frank remembered a time when he would have given up, and he remembered a race he almost gave away. And he remembered her challenge, 'You will prove them right, that blood is more important than will. And you will go on hiding how God made you, like me.'

Jazira like the silence that ensued was filled with sadness. She didn't know what to say and simply leaned against Frank, wondering if he was thinking about riding off into another sunset. Frank put his arm around her, brushing her soft hair from her shoulder. The horses had disappeared into the privacy of the darkness. Frank looked down at Jazira's face, at the distant look in her eye. He could suddenly see himself sitting on a fence on a future ranch in Missouri, with Jazira leaning against him as she was now.

Jazira closed her eyes, not from tiredness, but from the contentment and security she felt being next to Frank Hopkins. She was not aware that she sighed, but Frank heard her and smiled. It was all the motivation he needed and he said warmly,

"Jazira, I want you to come to America with me. I don't want to leave here without you. Will you come with me?"


	17. Western Justice, Partner

Frank looked up at the street name and decided to first try finding Major Davenport at his Liverpool townhouse. He checked the address he had been given by Lord Wellingham, who had also given him the Major's business address and the name of the club he frequented. Wherever the Major was, Frank only hoped he would find the man soon, as he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was about to go terribly wrong. He first experienced the sensation after Jazira had eagerly agreed to return home with him. She had jumped down from the fence, pulling Frank down with her and hugged him tightly. He had held her close as she expressed her gratitude repeatedly. The trip had been worth it, just for him to make her so completely happy. Then Jazira had pulled away from him, laughing and clapping in her excitement. Frank had chased her, caught her in his arms and the world stood still. It was a perfect moment and it was then the apprehension struck his heart, and even with his early departure from the manor and the long ride to Liverpool, the feeling had not dissipated as he had hoped it would.

Frank followed Tristan Street to the row of townhouses and found #9 as indicated by Lord Wellingham. It was noon and Frank chanced that the Major might be home for lunch. As he dismounted and tied his mustang to the hitching post, Frank wished that perhaps his anxiety was concerning this interview with the Major over Al-Hattal. He adjusted his suit before knocking at the heavy door. It swung open right away and a young footman stood in the entrance and asked,

"Frank Hopkins?"

Frank was taken by surprise and responded, "Yes. Apparently I have the right address. This is Major Davenport's residence?"

The footman held the door open for Frank to come inside and answered, "Yes, the Major was expecting you."

Frank followed the man inside the lavish apartment, puzzled and saying under his breath, "Well, that's mighty interesting."

The footman said, "The Major is eating lunch at the moment, would you care to join him or wait?"

Frank wanted the Major in a genial mood when he made his offer and said, "No, no, I'll wait. Let him take his time."

Frank sat in the parlor contemplating the disadvantages of living in town when Major Davenport stiffly entered the room. Frank immediately stood up out of respect and looked at the aging man with new appreciation. Major Davenport graciously shook his hand and said,

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hopkins. You're the Express rider that won the Bedouin Race a few years ago."

Frank smiled, "Yes, it seems like long time ago."

Major Davenport motioned towards a chair and both men sat down across from one another, the Major saying in a mechanical voice, "Does it now?"

Frank was trying to picture what could possibly brought Lady Anne and the Major together and he decided their relationship had been established on his wealth and her youth and beauty. The Major looked old and more battle weary than he had on the crossing to Arabia. Frank considered that marriage was probably the most difficult battle he had ever been engaged in.

Major Davenport broke into his thoughts saying, "You are probably wondering how I knew you were coming?"

"I was hoping you would get around to explaining that," Frank said candidly.

Major Davenport's smile was grim as he answered, "Lord Wellingham is a great friend of mine from years past. He sent me a wire and told me you would be arriving."

Frank nodded slowly, wondering what else Wellingham had mentioned. He finally asked, "Did he tell you why I was coming?"

For the first time since meeting Major Davenport, his eyes lit up, but he said cryptically, "He spoke of your visit in terms that I alone would understand."

The dull look returned and he added, "I shall leave it up to you to enlighten me further."

Frank rested his arms on his knees as he leaned forward, his hands clasped together in earnestness. He began, "I have come on business, Major. I want to buy the stallion, Al-Hattal from you."

Major Davenport said serenely, "That is my wife's prize, why not do your business with her?"

Frank weighed his answer before responding, "Because frankly, sir, I do not trust Lady Davenport. I have witnessed great acts of disloyalty on her part, and it has left me with the belief that she thinks only of herself, neglecting what is good and right for others."

Frank looked closely at the Major to catch the man's response from his blunt words. The older man's eyes had briefly caught fire and then extinguished themselves. The Major said forthrightly, "Or is it Mr. Hopkins, that you know my wife would refuse to even consider your offer, much less strike a deal with you."

Frank admitted, "That is true, she has sought after Al-Hattal most of her life. I doubt she ever plans to relinquish or sell him."

Major Davenport folded his hands, "So, once again, Mr. Hopkins, why did you come to me?"

Major Davenport seemed to want a specific answer and Frank gave it to him, as he squared his shoulders saying, "Because I love the woman, that your wife bought the stallion from. Al-Hattal to her is not bloodline, or perfection, or fame, or wealth. He is her past, her family, her home, and it is all she has left of those people and places. These are attributes I find you in more sympathy with, than your wife."

Major Davenport's eyes glistened, his pale cheeks flushed as he rested his chin on his hand, "You are an eloquent speaker Mr. Hopkins. And I do have sympathy for the young woman you speak of. I take it, you will be leaving for America shortly. Perhaps after you have had an opportunity to have an Al-Hattal cross for your mare."

Frank noticed the shadow of suspicion in the Major's eyes and answered, "I am hoping to return home soon, and Jazira, the young woman I speak of, has accepted my invitation to return with me. I came to England for the sole purpose of learning her whereabouts. I knew her history was tragic when I learned that your wife had possession of Al-Hattal. I do not plan to return to America without her or her inheritance."

Major Davenport's eyes drilled him as he said, "Boldly spoken Mr. Hopkins. You may be in England longer than you plan."

Frank was tired of playing this game and jumped to the topic that was sure to interest the Major, "I will pay $60,000 for him."

The amount caught Major Davenport's attention and he leaned forward saying in disbelief, "That much? Even my wife never offered the Sheik that much. You think that horse is worth that much?"

Frank looked down at his hat, clutched in one hand and then back up at Major Davenport, "Not the horse, Major, his rightful owner, the Sheik's daughter."

Frank could tell that Major Davenport was mentally checking and calculating his accounts and he added to sweeten the pot, "Not to mention, your wife does not even have to stallion's breeding book, she would never be offered that amount for Al-Hattal, or one of his foals from anyone else."

The Major's face was alive with expression as he said, "$60,000, incredible!"

Frank smiled, "That's my offer, and without the book, a generous one."

Major Davenport grinned, "Yes it is, and I accept your offer Mr. Hopkins, not only because of the money, but because of your character, as well as the young lady you spoke of. Would you like to call on my lawyer and draw up the terms of sale. As you know, you're going to need them when you face Lady Davenport."

Major Davenport called for his footman and ordered him to run ahead to his lawyer and prepare him for this unexpected visit. As the footman ran off to carry out his instructions, Major Davenport without a word disappeared down the hall. When he returned he had a leather volume in his hand. He looked at it a moment, then tossed it across the room to Frank who caught it easily. It was the Al-Khamsa manuscripts, the Sheik's breeding book. Frank was speechless, as he looked up at the Major in complete disbelief. Major Davenport gave him a sardonic smile saying,

"Won't Anne be surprised when you return to Coventry."

The older man's eyes danced with mischief and Frank understood the implication. The cowboy said with a grin on his face, "Western justice, partner."


	18. Food For Thought

Lady Davenport did not want to receive any visitors, not when she had so much on her mind. Frank Hopkins was her guest and she wanted him to work as her accomplice, perhaps even as her leverage, but he was still missing. She knew Frank escaped reality by drinking too much, that much had been obvious during the Great Race, when so much had been on the line. Therefore, it was easy enough to believe his frustration with his attempts at breeding his mustang had caused him to look for an easier way out. So, either he had not returned from what she believed had been an all niter at one of the local taverns, or he had returned to the manor late that night only to leave again very early in the morning. What bothered Lady Davenport was the fact that Frank was not presently at the manor. She had assumed that he would at least try to mate his mustang with Al-Hattal again. His absence destroyed her theory, that he truly wanted a foal from this line of equine perfection. If that was not the case, then he would have no real interest in helping her find the Sheik's breeding book as she had planned. Now she had a nagging misgiving. Perhaps more was going on than she knew about. Had she misjudged Frank Hopkins? Where could that infuriating man be?

She created a smile and entered her lounge where she had been told Lady Wellingham was waiting for her. Lady Davenport had wedged her way into Coventry society when she had purchased the manor. She had hosted and toasted the rich families with name and property to get a place among them herself. It was all about position, and she now reflected the down side to that was having to entertain these women when it did not serve her own interests. Of all people, Lady Wellingham's company was most suffocating, as she rarely had anything of interest to share. However, she was one of the cornerstones of Coventry society, so Lady Davenport tried to be gracious.

"Lady Wellingham, how wonderful for you to pay a visit. Did I ever thank you for receiving me and my guest the other day? Mr. Hopkins was most impressed with your estate and your hospitality."

As Lady Davenport sat down, Lady Wellingham replaced her tea cup on it's saucer and said, "Dear Anne, of course you did, several times before you left my home. I know my visit today is unexpected. But like you say, I believe your guest. . .is Hopkins the name? I believe you did just finish saying his name was Mr. Hopkins. Yes, I believe you are right, that he was impressed by our estate, for that is the only reason he could have had to call on Edouard yesterday afternoon."

The smile instantly disappeared from Lady Davenport's face. She gripped the arms of her chair tightly and her muscles tensed. In anger, her jaw set so hard she had to force it open in order to speak. When she did her voice sounded strained,

"Did you say, Mr. Hopkins called on Lord Wellingham, yesterday?"

Lady Wellingham held her gossiping tone, "He certainly did. I was sending off some letters when I saw that unusual horse being led to our stable. It looked nothing like the stallions in Coventry. So I asked our man, who did that creature belong to, and he told me that it belonged to your guest, Mr. Hopkins. I asked Lord Wellingham later if it was true, and, of course, he pretended not to hear me. You know how Edouard is, but I finally got it out of him. And I said to myself, with Edouard being as disagreeable as he is, if that man actually enjoyed talking with him then I must invite him to dinner. Naturally, Anne, I would never overlook you, not if I was going to invite over a guest of yours." Lady Wellingham added in a puzzlement, "Although, Major Davenport is not in residence at the moment, I wouldn't think there would be anything improper in inviting Mr. Hopkins and yourself to dinner. After all, Edouard and I will be there. I do hope you will accept."

Lady Davenport, trying to sort out the meaning of this new development, had hardly been listening to the woman. She caused Lady Wellingham some anxiety with the brief silence that followed her request.

Lady Davenport finally answered, "I will be glad to accept Eleanor. However, I cannot speak for Mr. Hopkins, since he has not returned."

Lady Wellingham's mouth formed a small "o", since she had really made the invitation because of Mr. Hopkins. She wanted to see someone have a conversation of length with her husband, to see how it was accomplished. However, if only Lady Davenport came it would throw her table off completely, and cause Lady Wellingham the worst anxiety. She knew her ulcer would act up if she constantly had to excuse her husband's conduct in Lady Davenport's presence throughout the course of an entire meal. But, the invitation had already been given and Lady Wellingham could only say,

"Yes, well, I will have a place ready for Mr. Hopkins so that when he returns he will hopefully choose to join us. And I truly wish that he will." She thought a moment and added, "Mr. Hopkins must have a way about him. He put Edouard in such a genial mood that he did not wear any of his dour expressions the rest of the evening."

Lady Davenport made a note to study that bit of information later. Still deep in thought, she remained strangely quiet and Eleanor feeling uncomfortable with the tension she could sense but did not understand made ready to leave saying, "I know I wasn't expected, so I won't stay. We look forward to your company at dinner. Please don't forget to mention it to Mr. Hopkins when he returns."

Lady Davenport rose with her guest and replied assuredly, "Don't worry, I will not forget."

When Lady Wellingham exited the room, Lady Davenport sat back down and stared out of the window. Her whole perfect scheme, everything she had pictured in her mind had been threatened by this new information. Frank had not gotten drunk, he was not concerned about an Al-Hattal cross, and therefore he certainly cared nothing about the Al-Khamsa manuscripts. Then why had he come?"

A picture flashed through her thoughts, like a match struck in a dark room. Jazira riding into the desert camp on the back of Frank's hearty little mustang. It had been a touching scene. They had been alone on the Hammad, and they had returned alone. Cold fury, like a sharp winter wind, swept through Lady Davenport's entire being. Aziz, indeed, she thought with a menacing look on her face. Frank had deliberately put her off. Lady Davenport stood up, she had only one purpose, to find Jazira.

She walked slowly, methodically through the manor. She found her alone, in the long, narrow hall, standing atop the ladder cleaning the lofty windows. Lady Davenport looked only at her, as she walked forward. Jazira heard a light footstep and looked down from her work. Lady Davenport stood directly below her, and the look on her face was of bitter hatred. Their eyes locked and Jazira felt the stab of fear. She held her breath but refused to blink or flinch as she looked into the cruel eyes below her. Whatever Lady Davenport was plotting now, she had too much to look forward to when Frank returned, and the hope showed in her eyes. Lady Davenport noticed and her own eyes grew even darker and more dangerous as she resumed walking down the hall into the shadows.


	19. The Sheik

In the moonlight, Jazira walked towards Al-Hattal's stable. It had been one of the longest days of her life. She had seen Frank off early that morning with food she had packed for both him and his mustang. Before pulling out, he had checked his saddle, his bridle, and the cinches twice. Jazira knew it was unlike him to feel so apprehensive. He had twice thanked her for the supplies. When Frank gripped the saddle horn to mount, Jazira laid her hand on top of his and asked,

"What is wrong, Hok'shel'ato?"

He had looked at her from under the brim of his hat and grimaced answering honestly, "I have a bad feeling, something's about to go wrong."

His face was close to hers and Jazira hid the guilt she felt as she said earnestly, "You do not have to do this."

Frank looked at her with conviction, his voice was tender yet firm, "That's not it. But yes, I do have to go. I owe it to your father and to you. Besides, I've seen you with that stallion, he's part of you, in here. . ."and he took her hand and placed it on his warm chest, over his heart.

If Frank never told her that he loved her, Jazira had felt it at that moment. Storyteller nickered and Frank said, "I've got to be going."

Jazira's eyes glistened with emotion as she clasped the hand Frank had held to her own heart saying, "As it is said in England, Godspeed Frank Hopkins."

Frank turned the mare around to look at Jazira once more, then trotted down the drive. She followed them on foot until he galloped into the darkness of the morning. And suddenly she had wanted to call him back, to reassure him about his interview with Major Davenport, to tell him about the breeding book. Frank didn't know who had it, and he had never asked. Earlier she had struggled with herself whether she should tell him that Major Davenport held the sacred manuscripts, but later she had decided against it. Now that it was evening, she regretted her decision.

Jazira was glad to escape the house. Earlier, Lady Davenport had put her on edge with her sudden appearance in the hall. After Lady Wellingham's visit, Lady Davenport seemed to put the pieces together as fast as Frank and Jazira were sorting them out. As Jazira entered the stable and walked over to Al-Hattal, she realized that it did not particularly bother her that Lady Davenport's previous dislike had turned to something darker and stronger. After all, she would be leaving soon. At this moment she only wanted to see Frank, to know he was safe, that his apprehension had been for nothing. Jazira leaned her head against Al-Hattal and said,

"Should I have told him? Would it have made a difference?"

"Would what have made a difference?" a cocky voice asked from the other end of the stable.

Jazira looked up to see Phillips coming towards her. He said, "You talk to that horse all the time, ask him why he wouldn't stud that pretty little mustang of Mr. Hopkins."

Jazira looked past Al-Hattal's head and asked the groom, "Have you been drinking?"

"Not yet," came the saucy reply. He leaned against the stall asking with a mocking tone, "Do you know where "my lady" went off to this evening?"

"Why, so you can run down to the tavern?"

"Where I go is my business."

Jazira responded, "But when you return, it becomes mine."

His pride hurt, Phillips said gruffly, "Then don't stay out here, I haven't asked for your help."

Jazira caressed Al-Hattal's head saying, "I would not leave the Sheik."

Phillips taunted, "But what if Lady Davenport decides the Sheik should leave you? Just think, she could walk in at any minute and leave on your beloved stallion forever, and then where would you be?"

Phillips regretted the question as soon as it was out of his mouth, and even more so when a foreboding voice repeated it, "Yes, what would you do then, Jazira?"

Lady Davenport had just returned from a humiliating dinner at the Wellingham's. Lord Wellingham had made insinuations about her past and dark prophecies about her future throughout the seven course meal.

Phillips looked at both the raging Lady Davenport and at Jazira who prepared herself for the onslaught. She had protectively stepped in front of Al-Hattal, even as Phillips had dropped back out of sight to stand alongside a stall closer to the entrance, interested in what developed.

Lady Davenport stood masterfully in front of her servant, still wearing her riding habit, her riding crop in her hand. Phillips thought there was a indefinable majesty about Jazira as she stood ready for the attack.

Lady Davenport sneered, "The answer is, Jazira, you could do nothing. The stallion is mine, whether I possess the breeding book or not. Now, has Mr. Hopkins returned?"

Jazira said nothing. Lady Davenport snapped, her voice growing louder, "I asked you a question, has Mr. Hopkins returned?"

Jazira answered resolutely, "No."

"Finally, an answer. Let's see how many more I can get." She tapped her riding crop against her gloved palm, "Where exactly did Mr. Hopkins go this morning?"

Jazira stood stalwartly and remained silent. Lady Davenport slapped her riding crop against her hand once more, "Tell me, where he is!"

Jazira's eyes challenged hers. Phillips stood in shock as he saw Lady Davenport's riding crop rise into the air. First he heard the jingle of spurs, then he saw the cowboy's swift, long strides, and his hand grab the woman's arm, jerking the crop from her grasp saying,

"I'm right here."

Phillips felt shamed that he had not moved to intervene himself and left the stable.


	20. We Just Couldn't Cross Her

Jazira wished she had been able to spend more time with Frank. After interrupting the explosive scene in the stable, he assured Lady Davenport they would be leaving in the morning, and if she wanted them to leave now, they could find lodging at Lord Wellingham's. He did not know Lady Davenport had just returned from the Wellingham estate. Still, his suggestion found its mark in her pride. She was not about to give Lord Wellingham new ammunition to use against her.

Lady Davenport growled, "I regret the day I mailed those advertisements to your American newspapers."

Frank said in a mild, gentlemanly manner, "I'm sorry you feel that way m'am. I've had a pleasant visit here, up till now."

Frank looked across to Jazira as he said that, and her eyes twinkled responsively. Lady Davenport turned back around to face her and ordered, "Get your things out of here, and out of my house by tomorrow."

Jazira laid a hand on Al-Hattal and said, "I will be glad to."

Lady Davenport's anger had been so focused on the girl that she missed the reference to the stallion, but Frank did not and he nodded with a smile. Jazira saw him and knew things had gone well with Major Davenport. Her eyes lit up and fueled Lady Davenport's rage, and she turned to Frank and saying bitterly,

"I suppose it is no miracle that the two of you are in some kind of alliance together. You have always been attracted to worthless things."

Frank's frown turned ugly, his blue eyes smoldered and he said with dangerous calmness, "If you were a man, you'd be paying for that remark. But I've never hit a woman in my life, and I don't plan to start now. It's a guarantee, you'll be paying for it later, and you'll get what's coming to you."

Lady Davenport blinked wondering what the cowboy meant. It seemed as though he spoke of something specific. Frank added his voice heavy, "Now, the only way we can leave early, is if we turn in for the evening."

"I'll go when I'm good and ready. But as it seems you are turning in, I have one question for you Mr. Hopkins. Where were you today?" challenged Lady Davenport.

Frank couldn't resist the triumphant note in his voice as he replied, "Liverpool."

Lady Davenport's expression froze. There was someone in Liverpool who could dramatically alter her future. There was much to consider and Lady Davenport began to walk out of the stable saying over her shoulder, "Say your goodbyes to Al-Hattal, Jazira."

Frank lingered a moment asking, "Are you ready to go?"

Jazira answered, "I will be. Did you get the book?"

Frank smiled, pulled the leather volume out from under his vest and handed it to her asking, "How did Major Davenport get it?"

Jazira replied, "On the crossing to England, I didn't understand the English protocols of serving. When Lady Davenport told me to take a bottle of gin to the Major, I walked in and found him crying. He was embarrassed. If he had not been so upset he would never have asked, but he wanted to know if I was aware of his wife having improper liaisons during her time in Arabia. I answered him truthfully and felt so sorry for him. He had been very kind to me and I told him that if I had anything left to give him, I would, but Al-Hattal was my last possession, and he and Lady Davenport had already purchased him. After some days at sea, Lady Davenport began asking questions about my father's breeding book. Later Major Davenport pulled me aside and told me the only way the book would be safe from his wife was if it was in his possession." Jazira remembered with sadness, "I had already lost everything, so I decided to trust him."

Frank responded, "It was a good thing you did, with Major Davenport's name on the Writ of Sale, the breeding book served as our title for the Sheik."

A worried look settled in Jazira's eyes as she asked, "Frank, how much did you lose?"

"You make it sound like a gamble. And as I told your father, I'm no gambler." Frank looked over his shoulder. Lady Davenport was nowhere in sight and he said protectively, "I don't think she'll bother you anymore tonight."

Jazira tilted her head up at him saying, "I am not scared of her."

Frank stepped so close to her their bodies touched and he said, his breath warm on her forehead, "No, but I was scared for you."

Jazira asked, "Do you feel better now?"

Frank placed his hands behind her neck saying, "I'll feel better when we are on board the ship in Liverpool tomorrow." He was vividly aware of the lingering apprehension he still felt and said, "I'll be saying goodnight."

His glance lingered on her full lips and Jazira could almost taste the kiss that didn't come when he said as he took a step back, "We'll get an early start."

She answered a little breathlessly, "I will be ready, goodnight."

Frank grinned and walked out of the stable and into the night.

Jazira's emotions were in such turmoil she could not sleep. So many new experiences lay ahead of her, and while Frank had never described their relationship in specific terms, she trusted him. Jazira smiled to herself, knowing her father would have been happy with events turning out as they seemed to be. He had respected and trusted Frank as well. Jazira looked across at Al-Hattal and whispered,

"Sheik, we're going home."

The dawn was just breaking as Jazira led Al-Hattal out of the stable to join Frank. The sun turned the sky into the red and golden hues of a ripe peach, similar in color to the desert robes Jazira wore. Frank gazed at the wakening sun and said to Jazira as she mounted the stallion, "Wait until you see the sunrise from Missouri."

Jazira breathed deeply, happy to be alive and said, "I'm ready."

Frank looked across at her and they admired one another's form in the saddle as they walked in stride across the yard.

Phillips just coming out of his shed saw them and it took only a moment before he realized what was happening. He ran over the ground they had already passed to reach the house and warn Lady Davenport. It was unnecessary, for as Frank and Jazira rounded the corner to step onto the long drive in front of the manor, the heavy front door swung open and Phillips saw Lady Davenport, still in her nightgown long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, rush across the porch and lift up the heavy end of a rifle and fire at the riders. It was so unexpected the groom had no chance to shout a warning.


	21. As The Story Goes

Frank's horse reared. In that horrible second when the world seemed to turn upside down, he was able to rein in his mustang and control her panic. Frank looked over at Jazira as her stallion staggered and fell to the ground with a terrible sounding bray. In the space of a heartbeat, Frank's leg was over the saddle horn and he jumped down from his horse. The mustang trotted out of the way as Frank rushed over to Jazira who had collapsed underneath Al-Hattal. In one fluid movement Frank's gun was drawn and aimed towards the manor, at Lady Davenport. Their eyes met. Phillips ran towards his employer and Frank holstered his weapon. He turned to Jazira and dropped to his knees at her side. With difficulty, she was trying to pull her foot free from the stirrup and her leg out from under the frantic stallion. Frank assisted by pulling her clear of the stallion's weight. Al-Hattal tried to stand but never left the ground, finally he laid his head on the drive, his body shaking, his breath coming in sharp, short pants. Jazira pulled away from Frank and draped herself across the stallion, fruitlessly looking to see where the wound was located. Frank lay his hand along Al-Hattal's flank and knew when the horse drew his final breath. Jazira had lay her head alongside the Sheik's, she knew as well. She buried her face in his mane to stifle the sob that wrenched from her heart. Suddenly, Jazira pushed herself up and spun towards the manor. Frank rapidly got to his feet. When she saw Lady Davenport standing on the porch, the rifle in her hand at her side, Jazira lunged forward and cried out like a warrior,

"Ahhhhhh!"

As she propelled towards the woman, Frank leaped in front of her, his solid arm gripping her around the waist. Her desperate force challenged his strength, almost causing him to lose his balance as Jazira's body pulled against the hard muscles of his arm. She tried to prize herself free from his restraint crying, "Nooo!"

Frank looked up at Lady Davenport and he saw fear in her eyes.

Jazira struggled to get past Frank, but his grip was locked around her. His voice was commanding and stern as he said, "Jazira! It's what she wants! If you lay a hand on her, she'll see that you stay in England." Frank pulled Jazira against himself, "But you're not, you're coming with me."

Jazira stopped fighting and allowed Frank to tow her along as he moved toward his mustang, stopping to pick up her reticule on the way. Jazira's eyes swept over the now lifeless Al-Hattal, and she went limp. Frank quickly tied her cloth bag onto his own saddle bags. Blinded by tears, Jazira looked back towards the manor, at Lady Davenport and the groom. Then she felt Frank's arms go around her waist as he lifted her onto the mustang. She grabbed the saddle horn and doubled over in grief, barely able to hang on. Frank climbed on behind her, wrapped an arm around her pulling her tight against him, and tugged on the reins, knocking his heels against the mustang's side, saying powerfully,

"Gid'up."

Phillips was stunned. The great stallion that had crossed 3,000 miles of desert had been unable to make it across the English lawn. He stared after Frank and Jazira, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the barrel of the rifle come into his line of vision. He turned his head to see that Lady Davenport was aiming at the riders. As she lined up the shot, Phillips looked from one to the other of them, and as she fired the gun, he pushed her to the ground causing the shot to misfire. Startled, Frank wheeled his mustang around to see Lady Davenport trying to pick herself up. Phillips lifted his hand yelling,

"Godspeed!"

Frank dipped his head in acknowledgement and rode towards Liverpool.

After getting on the ship, Jazira locked herself in her cabin. Frank worried about her, but even more than that, he missed her. He paced the deck on the ship, checked on his mustang below deck, stared at the ceiling in his own cabin, and tapped on the door to Jazira's room only to receive silence. He knew her heart had been broken and he understood, so he waited.

On the second day at sea, Frank leaned against the ship's railing. The sun was bright and healing in it's warmth. He looked up into the deep blue sky, set off by the pure whiteness of the clouds and closed his eyes. He could see the ranch now, his ranch. He could hear the mustangs. He could see one or two bearing Hidalgo's markings, and perhaps one that looked like a majestic Arabian stallion. He could see her, Jazira, standing on the porch welcoming him home, and then he heard her soft rhythmic voice,

"Hello."

Frank opened his eyes and she was standing before him. She was so beautiful as her hair danced around her face with the ocean breeze, and the wind rippling her gold colored dress to touch him. He measured her heart by looking into her eyes, and she asked with a little smile,

"What do you see, up there?"

Frank reached for her hands and took them into his own, gently pulling her towards himself. Jazira looked up into the sky, the sun caressing her face in friendship. Frank asked tenderly, "Do you see it?"

Jazira closed her eyes embracing the warmth even as Frank embraced her. She asked dreamily, "See what?"

Frank savored the look of freedom on her face and replied in a whisper, "Our future. Remember how the story goes. . . 'the cavalry scout fell in love with the chief's daughter. . ."

Jazira opened her eyes and looked at Frank. He continued in husky softness, ". . .and married her."

They smiled at one another until Frank leaned down and kissed her.

The sun had truly come from the shadows, or had it?


End file.
